Unforgotten
by chaste-aeon
Summary: On the verge of insanity, or so he is forced to believe, Draco Malfoy still harbors love for Hermione Granger. They were lovers, once, during the Cold War that they both survived. Full summary inside. HGDM Dhr
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I'm still poor, aren't I? Go on with the story instead than see me sulking in the corner. Sniff

Summary: On the verge of insanity, or so he is forced to believe, Draco Malfoy still harbours love for Hermione Granger. They were lovers, once, during the Cold War that they both survived. But deaths and deceit happened. Loyalty not to a lover surfaced and they have been separated… A project brings them together, but Hermione fears it is too late. A shadow lurks behind their back, wanting revenge.

A.N The arrangement is somewhat altered, I know.

This was a result from some weird drabble that I had thought of once. Anyway, I've already thought of the next chapters, and they have already been typed. I seriously hope you wait for the next chapter before you dismiss this story as... _something not good_'. Reviews are always welcome! Oh yes, foreshadowing will be used in the latter chapters. Actually, you might see the technique in this chapter already. If you don't understand some things, they'll be revealed, explained and elaborated in the next chapters, I promise. :)

Written: January 3, 2006

Edited: April 09, 2007

Read and edited Hermione's part (again, for those minor things): April 12, 2007

* * *

Someone deserved a praise for a job _badly _done. In the past, his reports were at least prompt. Presently, however, not only were they submitted late full of inaccuracies, but they were also lacking in quality. Hermione glowered at the thick pile. When its size didn't decrease, Hermione sighed as she pushed the manila folder away, then leaned on her right palm. "This isn't fair," she muttered, annoyed and miserable. "How the hell am I supposed to finish this bill if _he_ doesn't work his arse off?"

Hermione was the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation which intrinsicaly worked with the new Mugggle Department. There were filed complaints of terror from all over the Muggle World. All of them random. All of them odd. All of them magical. There was chaos within the walls of the Obliviator Headquarters. There was an Obliviator being dispatched every second which left the department in constant panic.

Hermione knew the cases were still Voldemort-related, even though he _was_ dead and sent where he rightfully belonged. Hermione wished, not that she was an evil person or anything, that he was rotting in Hell.

"How many Death Eaters are still there? Again?" Margaret Limsky sat down across Hermione's table, then pour newly brewed coffee to Hermione's mug.

Hermione yawned and gave her thanks for the coffee. She needed it badly and was glad that Margaret offered to stay the night. "Hundreds. Thousands," she said irritated. "I don't have a clue how many were recruited before the War ended. I'm not even sure if they _still_ _are_ recruiting."

Margaret sent a look of sympathy to Hermione. "That's why I'll never work as a Head."

Hermione growled impatiently, tapping her quill. She didn't know what else to do. "It's not the Head thing that makes one's life difficult. It's _who_. It's _who_ the other _Head_ is." She paused, then glared at the feather part of her quill, looking for something to vent her anger at. "The Department of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad is just so _damn _secretive! They won't give me any new information, or even allow me to the files room to access their records! _Unless_, they said, I get a special permit from their Head." She stabbed the paper with her quill, furious.

Margaret raised a brow at Hermione's sudden _passionate _attitude. "Then do it. It sounds easy enough."

_It does, doesn't it? But it isn't._

Hermione grunted, threw her head back, closed her eyes, then rotated her neck. When Hermione didn't give a reply, Margaret quiered, "Who _is_ the other Head, by the way?"

Hermione opened one eye. "You seriously don't know?"

Margaret shrugged. "I can't say I do. I know the _people, _but I don't know what dep they work in."

Hermione couldn't care less on what the Head was doing, but he was greatly affecting the project they were working on. His absences, his detachedly-placed passion for the project –if there ever even was-- was getting on Hermione's nerves. God, how can he be so infuriating, especially at a time like this. At a time where Hermione was depending on _his_ department to work with hers just to pass that damn bill, which might lessen the dark shadows still wrecking havoc in the state.

Hermione gritted her teeth. "Draco Malfoy." She had never once spoken his name after their arrangment.

Margaret grinned. "He's hot, but he's... eccentric."

"Eccentric?" Hermione repeated, puzzled, before she understood. "You're too nice for your own good," she finally remarked. A small part of Hermione ached for the optimisim Margaret had..

"I know," Margaret responded, standing up. "That's why I'm already going home. I only promised you," -she looked at her wrist watch- "until eleven. It's past one in the morning."

Hermione smiled then waved a hand. "I didn't asked you to stay _this_ long."

Margaret's hand was already at the knob when she stopped. "Just talk to him, will you? It won't hurt you, you know." She hesitated before adding softly, "Sometimes, Hermione, you make things too hard for yourself."

When she left, Hermione leaned back at her chair and felt miserable. _Boy, don't I know that._

But there was a problem. Hermione was no mood to talk to any person named Draco Malfoy. Ironic, wasn't it? It was just so damn ironic when she was Head of _the_ Department which promoted policies such as communication, relations, patience and understanding. Heh

_What a funny way to strike back at me._

And now, she was scurrying away from them. How she ever got promoted was beyond her. But she had her own reasons, bitter reasons, for staying away.

Her gaze halted to a picture frame; the red hair most distinct against her brown hair. They were cuddled up against each other; their smiles very broad and wax, depicting the picture of happiness.

That was before the war.

Then, the war happened.

Everything happened during the war.

The silence was replaced by the sound of her breathing: slow and paniful. It was too difficult to bear. Too difficult to even just remember or accept. It could have been Paradise, if it weren't for the last mission-- _his_ last mission.

God. _What could she do? Would she just risk everything? Just like that? Will her efforts of control end just because of him?_

A snort.

She'll be dammed before she let that happen.

The question was how.

* * *

Glass bottles were already lined up and positioned along the porch of the next house. They were brought by a man wearing a uniform as white as the liquid they contained. It was during at this event that Draco remembered what day it was.

_Monday._ _Or was it Tuesday?_

No, the green --the color of the man's uniform which led Draco to call him just as that-- man who always had two blades joined together by what seemed to be a screw, was always what the man was flexing who came during Tuesdays.

_Definitely a Monday. _There was no mistake.

He should get a fucking calendar. Unfortunately, he kept forgetting to conjure one. And the act alone of forgetting to conjure one escaped his logical thinking because...

He held up his palm, closed it, then lifted the index finger.

_One is because I'm always bored. Whenever mum isn't around, I constantly pace around thinking for anything, something, that I could do. Still, I forget to conjure a bloody calendar._

Draco sighed, knocked off his shoes and lay down on the sofa.

_Second is the fact that it's **just** a bloody conjuration! I could do it **wandless**. No, that's **not** it. It's the fact that a **first year** could bloody remember it and conjure one. So much for maturity._

He rolled his eyes, yawned and put his arms behind his head.

_Third is that fact that I am **never** forgetfull! Forgetfulness **was** **never **a trait of mine in **Hogwarts**. **Ever!**_

Then again, he told himself, miserable, his mother was _almost always_ in the house! Which forced him to attend to her. Or else... Or else suffer the endless lectures and insults of how _unceptable_ his attitude _was_ to her. It already happened to him twice, and, Draco could not believe his mother's audicity. _She_ was ignoring her when _she_ was in _his_ own flat. His own flat that he bought with his own money! That wasn't the worse part even. The thing was, she acted like a demolisher, wrecking havoc to his furniture and _his_ very personal belongings that mothers should never see.

Draco hit his head over and over the sofa. _Thud. Thud. Thud._

_Where was I? Ah, plus the fact that I always find myself **out **of **my** house wanting to **escape** her. _

Draco loved his mother so much that he was practically willing to do anything for her. But this was something else. No sane son would actually stand through all this. No, he wasn't insane, thank you very much. Draco liked his sanity; and he feared, that if he spent _more_ time with his mother, she would drive him _insane_. And an insane Draco Malfoy wasn't a very pleasant image he could picture.

_Now, where was I again? Hmm...? Oh yes, '**was'. **A statement of the past. _

He rolled his eyes, flexed his jaw then paused.

There was always a nibbling feeling, an irritating feeling that always nagged him. It was becoming _so _incessant that, instead of figuring what it _was, _he just kept shoving it back to the _back_ of his mind. Then, he made sure he had gulped down a bottle of a Dreamless Potion to ensure that _the thing_ didn't hunt him, pester him, and annoy him, even in his own dreams where things _were supposed to be peaceful._

It reminded him so much of his mother. _So much_, that once, he thought **_it_** might even be related to his _mother. _

It was rather pathetic, really. Whatever his mind was concluding was way out of hand.

A clatter was heard in the kitchen.

She was already here.


	2. Chapter 1

"Christ's sake!" Blaise muttered under his breath. Shocked beyond reason as to what could bring _The Draco Malfoy_ into this ruin.

Speaking of the devil, he was there, leaning on the armrest of a once-usable couch. For a Goddess' life, _leaning_ was not even the right word. More of _hanging_— his chest was against the armrest (which made breathing difficult), and his hands were groping the edge of the furniture.

_He couldn't move,_ Blaise observed with sympathy. What had he been doing here for the past week? No one had seen him even in his own prestigious office.

"Was-was…ted," Draco breathed as Blaise turned and inspected his face. Draco only grunted in response.

Blaise shook his head. "That's an understatement," he commented dryly as response to Draco's previous comment.

It was true but_ definitely_ an understatement; Draco Malfoy would never have been caught having a bad hair-day in Hogwarts, much less after Graduation. It was a trait that Draco took to heart, treating it as his own personal rule, rather than it belonging to a Malfoy's— passed from generation to generation. _Always dress impeccably and presentably. Appearance is the most important trait next to personality._ Ignorance alone was enough for _any_ Malfoy to be banished and removed from his family.

Blaise chuckled at the thought. He remembered Draco telling him the Golden Rule, and to his utter amusement, it even had a number. If Blaise remembered correctly, the ludicrous serial started with 9… 946-

Blaise's thoughts were interrupted as Draco grounded out, "Mine-mion-e." His hands dangling yet again, and sweeping the stained carpet.

The black-haired ex-Slytherin, not having heard the actual words as he dismissed them as gibberish from a drunken man, kneeled down and sighed, resigned to the fact that Draco Malfoy was in serious need of help—something he was not accustomed to. At all. _It wasn't that bad, wasn't it?_ Blaise thought.

The only conscious and sane person in the room shaded his eyes with his right palm, and then hesitantly peeked through his fingers before slamming his eyes shut again.

Oh, goddess help him.

It was a mess.

It was unbelievably very un-Malfoy_-ish_.

The solid proof of Draco's irresponsibility, and problem, was just starting to sink into Blaise's head. He didn't notice –actually notice— the cracks, the splotches that destroyed the once glorious coloring of the carpet, or the smell. _Oh, the smell's horrible, horrendous… It was worse than— _

Swallowing hard, Blaise tried blinking, willing away the smell. He managed to rasp a spell which sanitized the air, allowing it to be suitable for breathing. At least while he was still there.

He sighed, he couldn't abandon his friend.

Merlin, was he going to be busy.


	3. Chapter 2

She couldn't believe it! Not only did he turn in his reports late, but he had been absent for a week now! How the hell had she not heard of that yet! She was supposed to be _her_ partner for this bill- _Damn. _Partner was not a word she wanted to call the relationship she had with Draco Malfoy. In fact, she didn't even have a relationship with Draco Malfoy! Draco Malfoy –she addressed him as formal as possible- was even inexistent in her mind. Draco Malfoy was only, after all, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement Squad. Ri-ight.

Another swift snatch of a shot-glass before it was downed completely; a pound on the table, and it fell sideways. Rolling and rolling, auburn liquid was still visible and ran through the side of the glass, but only to a certain amount. The glass went piling up along with 10 identical shapes which contained similar liquids.

Hermione's head collided with the table fast; fortunately, her arm had already been in placed. A bump on the head was avoided.

"Granger, Granger… how could you have done that?" A whisper in the air.

Oh God, even the air was taunting her! That voice, she knew achingly well, continued its torment. "Why? Spy-spine-less, you are," in a slurred voice, low and bitter.

Hermione was losing her wits. If God was punishing her for life with this horror, she'd rather die then.

A snort and a humorless chuckle was what Hermione heard next. "You're pissed, Granger, ever so pristine and chaste Granger. I don't believe it... Maybe I'm just too wasted that I'm hallucinating."

The brown-haired lass stiffened, and a sharp intake of breath was heard. She turned her head to the left- no one, but an empty stool. After an aching minute, she forced herself to look at her right and was greeted by grey orbs- the bane of her existence, the sole reason why she was… drunk.

"Tell me you're kidding with me," she muttered then cursed whatever deity was watching over her.

The man to her right tutted, then he propped his platinum head to his right arm, mirroring Hermione's position as she faced him. "I wish I were, sugar. Unless I'm already insane that I'm hallucinating," he drawled, looping his finger in action. "Too late...," he whispered huskily. "I already am… I'm haunted by my mother."

Hermione's eyes widened in response; a cold sense of foreboding crawled along her spine. Even though she was drunk, she knew what Malfoy's statement implied. Narcissa Black Malfoy has been dead, burned. There was not enough link to the real world that could possibly make her a ghost. And seemingly so, she knew –_she knew_— Malfoy did not meant a ghost. By all rights… it was impossible. Unless… unless Malfoy had indeed fallen ill and gone insane.

"Don't be an ass, Malfoy," Hermione said through a clenched smile. "You're pathetic. Such a lying, selfish, conceited bastard. Screw you." She said the last bit with more emotion than she could possibly have.

He smiled, malignant as it was, and raised his head, "You already did."

With her clenched fists and blazing eyes, she wanted to feel detached, but he wasn't allowing her to. Someone had beaten her from responding, and Draco wasn't able to hear her stark reply.

"Draco, we-" Blaise looked torn between the two (Draco now looking drugged and asleep, and Hermione looking crossed) before his eyes sparkled, giving away the clue that he had an idea. Hermione didn't like it one bit; somehow, she knew it concerned her.

"Say, Hermione-" _damn! She was right!_ "-where are you on your bill?"

_Damn him to Hell_.

Blaise Zabini was one Slytherin through and through. His slyness had just been proven; their golden rule having the words resources and exchange, consequence and exploitation… advantages.

"You know where we stand." Flat manner. She glared at Malfoy, before realizing she was no longer facing the ominous golden head of a Malfoy. She forced her view a little lower and saw what she was looking for. Asleep.

She cursed, and then looked away. "Yes, I believe I know exactly how your progress has been doing," Blaise reported, amused.

_Or lack of progress, _Hermione wanted to say. She sighed, and rubbed her temples. It was very unfortunate for her to be paired up with Malfoy, of all people. She had sworn to herself, a year ago-after knowing the truth- that she would come to regard Malfoy only with coldness, devoid of any other feeling.

And it pained her to do it; it was almost as if she committed suicide. But she was a living testament, was she not?

And less than a year ago, her department had arranged a new project for the Ministry. She never knew who the other Director was until the very first meeting. She never kept her tabs on Malfoy. She ignored him, but he was always there… watching. She even thought, at first, that it wasn't a coincidence, but Malfoy had set everything up. That he had paid her employee to promote the said project and seek her attention. Oh, life was just a torture.

"My friend here, as you can see, is in need of help. Obviously, my skills are not in the needed area. And, we all are aware…" he paused, and then grinned, "of your business arrangements."

Hermione rolled her eyes heavenward. Nobody in the Ministry was clueless about what was happening even in the darkest and lowest space of office. It was disgusting, really. And Hermione thought she could leave gossip when Professionalism entered the picture. It just says as much- that the opposite always happene. "And you are proposing what?" Her drunkenness was gone, replaced by something else. Curiosity, perhaps? No, she would just slam his idea back to his face anyway.

"He has been coop in his house for a week or more... God knows what other outrageous things he has been doing," he muttered darkly. "He needs some affection from someone-"

Hermione's eyes widened, before she snorted. If Blaise Zabini were telling her that she will be officially in-charge of one not-so-fine Draco Malfoy, then she'd rather tell him to go screw himself. Or maybe not exactly screw himself per se as she remembered using the phrase just moments ago and having it back-fired. But then again, Blaise and Hermione had shared no past that was worth… remembering— meaning, they really had nothing; they were nothing but acquaintances.

"-who could give it to him. From someone who knows him well enough-"

"Cut the crap, Zabini," Hermione interjected. "You referring only to one person; and we both know who that person is," she finished angrily. She knew she was already losing. Big time.

Blaise shrugged. "Hmm, it would really do him better since you've known him so well."

Hermione sent him a withering look. He was talking about their past, that he knew about them; Hermione had reason to hate Blaise for that, for the small fact that he knew something about her shared past with Draco. It was supposed to be a secret, a secret with Dra— with Malfoy. Even Ron nor Harry knew nothing about it. How the hell did Blaise knew? Somehow, someday, she'll get to the bottom of this.

"Seriously, it would do you good. You'd finally get to make sure your bill is passed," he continued.

Blaise was correct for that point. If Hermione would be the nanny, she would make sure that Draco Malfoy gets well and do his fucking job. But Hermione was smarter than that and was not going to turn to a victim, and fall to the Slytherin's plan.

Blaise saw defiance. He never got no for answer. She'd see that; he'd make sure of it.

He looked her straight in the eye. A miracle was occurring, and Hermione was getting a patron seat to witness it. Blaise was looking different for every quarter of a half of a second. Something was being shed: pride.

He was pleading.

It was only then Hermione started to see something— the dark shadow behind his cynical eyes. Gone was the amusement. It was a deep, dark pool of pain for his friend. Soft and vulnerable. "And he really did take a lot of damage back then. I don't believe he has healed from it yet. We're grown up now, Hermione. You're a woman of your own. Don't let the past haunt you anymore. Can't you please consider this?" Suddenly, he seemed older, tired… It was a shift to a different Blaise. A Blaise she never would have expected to see before_ it_ happened.

She never thought Blaise would still stick by Draco's side. He loved Ginny, seemingly like a sister as Ron did, as she loved him. Ginny was the only one who believed him of his innocence when everyone else accused Blaise of being a traitor. With her death, she knew, a part of Blaise died. And yet, the same man who was left in the world was by now Draco's side, begging her.

It had hurt him— really had hurt him. Maybe even comparable to how Harry had felt about Ginny's death. But impossible is the word: she was his soul-mate. Then again, Blaise brought her up, made a reference over her death. A reference, a step over the line, that nobody ever took after it happened. It was just too painful. What he just did took courage, and it made Hermione uneasy, squirm with guilt for how she had cowered and ran away from Draco. She wasn't a true Gryffindor. She have witnessed the snake bear its fang and fight, twice. Ironic, it surely was.

Her throat felt dry; eyes burning. She swallowed, as best as she can, her guilt. And sighed.

_For her sake…_

It wasn't as if Blaise was telling her to get back with Draco, or for her to love him. No, it was just to restore him. For all she knew, she might've been the cause of everything even. And knowing that filled her with another wave of emotion. Stronger than guilt.

"All-right," she conceded, her voice soft.

This was for Ginny. Hermione hoped she was somewhere happy and watching all over them.


	4. Chapter 3

"What is _that_ rotten smell?" Hermione pinched her nose in disgust and shook her head violently. She couldn't believe Malfoy could actually live in something like this. He was always a neat-freak, even during their Head days in Hogwarts when they shared a common dormitory. He was an obsessive-compulsive bastard, _worse _than she was. For example, Malfoy's books were never disoriented. In fact, you could see them arranged by subject, alphabetically, by author, by color, and by height, respectively.

Hermione Granger could only stare at the oddity of it all when she first noticed it. _Noticed_ it… yes, she was that keen. She _hated_ him with a passion that could rival the boys' with their _precious _Quidditch. She scoffed. He _was _scrutinizing; she just _returned_ the favor, and during one of her observations, she learned that of his character.

"Countless barfs, rotten foods…" Blaise disappeared behind a door, before groaning and yelling out, "Miserable patches! Damn those solutions. What the _hell_ are these?"

Hermione, scandalized, sent a sympathetic look towards the sleeping form of Draco Malfoy, before hurrying towards the kitchen. "Oh _God_," she murmured, closing her eyes. "Why aren't you even affected by the smell?" she questioned Blaise hastily, as if speaking allowed the gruesome air into her system.

"Tell me about it," he muttered, claiming a light beer from the refrigerator and slamming the door shut with his boot, his fingers prying open the bottle lid. He spared the female a look, offering the bottle while she shook her head frantically in declination. "Well, I've been here for the past few days. Taking care of him. I've bought potions that are supposed to remove those bloody stains—to no avail. And the smell" -he cursed- "I couldn't do anything about them but lessen the degree of nastiness they produce," he explained distractedly as he searched for an opener.

_The smell was already toned down?_ Hermione wanted to ask. She saw Blaise opened and closed the drawers, making a racket, before she told him wryly, "You're a wizard, aren't you? Accio one."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he replied sheepishly. "You see I was mugged moments before I came back here."

Hermione wanted to be privy for once, it was a scene to behold, a laughing memory to be cherished. She wanted to urge him to report the crime he just witnessed. Knowing Blaise, his wand would have been expensive. _Damned_ _expensive._ But, surely, a muggle would care nothing for a long wooden stick and dismiss it as a junk.

Blaise, reading her thoughts, said, "He thought it was a concealed knife and decided it was better if he broke it than take his chance."

"Smart man," Hermione remarked before her face contorted to one of a problematic.

Draco Malfoy emerged from the hallway, swaying and mumbling, "She's back." He was breathing hard.

"Who's back?" Blaise asked after gulping, puzzled.

"Narcissa," Hermione supplied forlornly before sighing heavily.


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: I found this one stored with my other drafts. My laptop is pretty messed up since I had to copy/paste/move documents from computer to computer. So, I had written this last year, but was not able to post it. The last part was added two weeks ago. I skimmed through it and found it acceptable enough. I'm too drained to edit it, not because I was writing the whole day because I wasn't even able to write. Imagine that.

So this chapter explains Hermione and Draco's shared history and what happened.

Enjoy and read, and tell me what you think. :)

* * *

Hermione never thought she'd ever feel some emotions that concerned Draco Malfoy stir inside her. She was filled with terror and guilt with the things she'd done to him for his mistake. Yes, she thought sadly, it was a mistake on his part. It was never intended to happen. 

And now, he was mentally ill. He was seeing his dead mother, who was haunting him, taunting him. She laughed bitterly, but hadn't he taunted her as well. Who was she kidding anyway? She couldn't forget him. Not in a million years.

Draco shivered, whimpered in his sleep.

Hermione helplessly looked at him, grabbed, squeezed another cold towel and placed it on his forehead to calm his raging fever. Malfoy was muttering, swaying; his face so pale, his hands swathing something invisible, before collapsing— only to be save with Hermione's quick reaction. It just happened so fast that she was thankful she still had her reflexes which was needed during the war. His face was still complete, unbroken and unmarred thanks to the mattress that Hermione transfigured from a demurely looking rag.

She forced herself to look elsewhere, concentrated on the concoction she made. She traced, followed the light only to have it end on Malfoy's face which she wanted to eradicate permanently from her memory. His eye-bags were dark, and his cheek-bones were more distinct than ever. He had lost weight. His coloring did not escape his harsh experiences, only becoming paler, transparent even. Hermione could see the small purple veins on his cheeks.

It would be morning before the potion would take its full effect and healing properties on Malfoy. She wanted the rosy glow restored on his cheeks; his supple lips returned, moist and soft. Oh, how she missed him. How she missed his quiet voice, his once-rare laughter that became more frequent with each meeting, his body filled with passion and desire. She missed the comforting silence they once shared, the understanding.

"'Mi…," Draco breathed, his eyes soft. "Is that you? Angel?"

Hermione nodded slowly while her vision began to blur. She bit her lip trying to focus and stop the annoying tears from flowing.

"Have you returned? Merlin, I am so sorry," he whispered raggedly.

But Hermione couldn't. She couldn't stop herself from crying when the man in front of her tried to apologize and apologize and apologize. She rejected him without even knowing his side, once. She just reacted out of her loyalty. Ginny was Ron's little sister; Harry who loved her, and Ginny was her own best friend. No one knew, save Blaise Zabini –Ginny's other confidante— perhaps, of the intimate relationship she and Malfoy shared during the cold-blooded War.

_Everybody was doing their own thing. Harry was always drunk; and Ron fought violently or fucked anything that moved. They even once thought that he could have gone as close to being a homosexual just for the temptation and the distraction it gave him. _

_And Hermione Granger was fucking Draco Malfoy._

No one knew about it because they never mentioned it. It wasn't something _that _important to mention during their dinner or lunch. It wasn't something _that _she could suddenly blurt out, smiling, and say, "By the way, guys, I'm fucking Draco Malfoy."

It was their _own_ precious secret. Something that only _they_ knew. Only _they _shared. Because of it, they _felt_ needed. It was another thing they looked forward to every after mission.

It was both a release and a relief to them. She didn't remember how it even started, but she was crying because of a certain death— one thing for sure. One thing led to another. A quick passionate need in a dark alley was what she remembered, the red brick wall on her back.

They shared no words.

They shared no words because words were not needed. Each comforted the other with his body, feeling the other's passion, reading the other's movement. Knowing the other intimately, learning through their own experience, own time, molded them into each other. They shared the sadness, the desperation to live since they both knew how they could have ended up dead the very next day. Each meeting was filled with desire, desire that couldn't have cooled down. Each new touch, each new caress rivaled the past one—competing with past lovemaking, wanting to earn the title of the best memory.

Then they ended as the war did. They were no longer vigilantes, who sought vindication. They were free people who defended what was right. They were all heroes, victims, lovers and friends. Each knew a casualty. But the most tearing of everything was Ginny Weasley.

It was a year after the war; both sent no note, no correspondence, until a lunch date was set before them. It was a group meeting, a friendly meeting for some of their friends who survived. They weren't even aware of each other's presence in the table until their names were mentioned. _Everybody was numb after the war._ They sent each other a small smile, polite, but no mentioning of their adventures. They parted ways after the meeting ended. And Hermione didn't think she'd see him ever again.

One night, in her room, an owl was sent to her with a note:

_I want to see you again. _

It was just those 6 simple words that brought her to her senses. He wanted her. But she knew he didn't mean banging her against a wall or cheap motels and their musky scents. No. He meant something else. She knew… and she was right.

They just held hands, walking, talking, getting to know each other. How they seem to share an affinity for strawberry ice cream and cheese. It was a direct communication that they didn't need to guess what the other was thinking. Everything was out in the open. No secrets were kept. They were like teenagers, not crossing the line, not intending to until they were satisfied with each other's innocent company. He would walk her home, share his coat with her, and kiss her goodbye chastely. A kiss she had never experience before. It was as if they were kissing for the first time, and she thought it to be sweet. He was. It was fun, and Hermione believed herself to be in-love with him. She was.

After weeks of spending her days with him, being fetched at her office, asking him to wait, hearing his throaty masculine laugh, she decided for it to become official. From their dates, she went to Harry's home, giggling, her ears red from the snow, bursting with happiness. She told him she was in-love with Draco Malfoy. She needed to tell him. She needed to share her good news with her bestfriend.

She was not greeted with a smile and a congratulatory hug. She was, instead, greeted by a pissed Harry. Beyond pissed, that he insulted Malfoy over and over again that Hermione thought she'd never forgive Harry for doing. Then, for all his grief, tears started falling from his emerald eyes. He finally told me the truth as to how Ginny died. He told Hermione, "She died through Draco's hands." That he was a traitor, that it was his fault Ginny was dead. That he was a fucking irresponsible Troupe Leader, and the consequence was Ginny's death.

Hermione cried out to him, protesting to him about Malfoy's innocence. How it wasn't his fault. She questioned him why was Draco still alive, then.

His answer was simply: "Because he was needed."

So they were back to morality, only it was twisted. They needed him, and so he was not force to bend on the doorway of Death. He was used, although he was in a far better state in life, than what he could have possibly hoped for if he had sided with the Dark Side. Still, it wasn't fair. He gave his life for the missions that were assigned to him. He took care of each and every member as his responsibility. And that he did, when he was faced with Ginny's death, he minced no words, no hesitation with the truth. He came to Harry and Ron willingly and told them of her death.

Ginny's death. Oh, how Hermione could kill for her. She had saved her countless of times, thrice for the exact number. And yet, there she was, to die on Malfoy's hands. Was it fated? If so, fate it such a cruel thing. She was prepared to kill for Ginny; innocence was no longer the question or basis. They all killed during the war. All their hands were stained with blood.

She wasn't the just the diplomatic Head of Foreign Affairs, or the cheerful yet down-to-earth Gryffindor. She was a killer, an assassin with a purpose in mind. She taught everyone how to fight, when half the Hogwarts population came to Harry.

Hogwarts was closed down before their 7th year ended. Months of education, or seeking knowledge from a worthy school was stopped. They all took their lessons from Hermione Granger. She all took them under her wing, furthering the education. About survival, about the tactics she learned from the boys, about casting the proper Dark Magic to defend themselves and to attack their enemies. Fighting, killing, survival. That was their life. And Hermione was glad that she had Malfoy during the war. And then, just then when she learned that it was the same Malfoy who was responsible for Ginny's death…

"Do you want me to kill him?" Hermione had asked Harry softly, seriously, her eyes taking a distant toll. The same eyes she wore when she was about to jump on a prey, no family, no friends. Just the lion and the game.

"No, he's holding an important office." What was Malfoy's position then was not something Hermione tangled herself with. She didn't think when she left him, that he would matter in her present life, but now he did.

Hermione now muffled a cry.

"I promise I won't see him ever again, Harry. I promise."

She made the damned promise when Harry didn't ask anything from her. Not yet.

She returned home that day, her shoulders sagging, her body exhausted. She wanted to cry and cry and cry for the lost love. For the happily-ever-after that she was not going to be getting.

Just then, Ron barged in at her house. Screaming, yelling, his face red with fury; she wasn't laughing anymore, wasn't teasing Ron for similarly looking as red as his fiery hair. He said she was an idiot. That she was a stupid girl for believing Malfoy; for ever believing the fucking bastard who killed his sister. Hermione ended up pleading, begging, crawling to him and asking for his forgiveness, for Ginny's forgiveness. He said nothing to her pleas, but left leaving a threat: "If I happen to learn of you ever seeing Malfoy ever again that would involve anything other than formality and— and fucking you know what, then you're the _bloody _traitor."

And that… that was the end of her relationship with Dra-Malfoy. She didn't tell Harry or Ron her involvement with Malfoy during the War. That he kept her sane, on the balance when no one could. Those were no longer important because they were already _past._ A past that she was no longer going to remember or even call as her own… Unfortunately, it was proving hard to do, ever after these years, months…

She could no longer stop the free-falling tears. She hated herself then, now- it didn't matter. She had lost her lover and her best friend.

When Malfoy came back the next day, she lost all her passion and learned how to treat him with indifference. She calmly, looking him straight in his ever-distinguished Malfoy blue-mercury eyes, stated that they were over. (It was one of the hardest things she had ever done. He knew when she lied, and so she had to practice and practice and practice it.) She didn't explain or mention anything about knowing something. Words did not stumble from her mouth. It was over, simply over because it had to be. Her last words were placed threateningly, with a detached coldness only bitterness would have been reason. _She would gladly kill him when Ron or Harry gave the order_, she told him.

Malfoy didn't take it well. But he didn't scream at her. But he wasn't about to let her win either. He wasn't giving up and remained dutifully loyal to her. He was always there, until finally, Hermione told him to go screw himself and that she never wanted to see him ever again. He never even had the chance to say anything else.

If possible, he became the bastard everyone assumed he would be— with or without the war. He was cold, and he was cruel. He pushed his own way up until he was promoted several notches to the top. Everybody knew he was a prick, an ass-hole, but nobody cared. They only cared about how he could finish an assignment no matter how impossible it seemed. His responsibilities, those he took seriously. No ifs, no buts. That despite his arrogance and bitterness, that despite his coldness towards people, he would very well stay very late in his office, working on his files. He was that devoted… an escape, it would seem.

Hermione Granger fell asleep, that night, having dreams of a platinum-haired man. No nightmares, no pain.

In the darkness, however, was a catastrophe waiting to be unleashed. Or had it been already unleashed?

One of them was in pain. The question was who? The girl was smiling in her mindless sleep. That only meant one thing. The conspirator grinned, everything was proceeding perfectly.

* * *

"Coffee?" 

"3 creams," Hermione said, yawning. "God, it's cold here."

"You're a _witch_. Do something about it," Blaise teased in retaliation of yesterday's mockery.

Hermione rolled her eyes before sobering. "Remember, no one hears about this. Understand?"

"Crystal." Blaise saluted with a wink.

"Blaise, you don't understand. This is serious!" Hermione cried, frustrated as she simultaneously stood. "If Ron or Harry gets wind of this, they'll-"

"They'll what?" Blaise snapped, eyes flashing. "You still haven't learned, have you, Hermione?"

"You don't understand," she said quietly, staring at her fingers. Merlin, she was a rotten Gryffindor. A coward.

"You're the one who does not understand things. He loves you, still does," he admitted. "Both of you are lucky to have the other alive, even." With that cryptic truth he released, he enviously left her to ponder.

* * *

A/N: So how was it:) 


	6. Author's Notes

A/N: I'm sorry to say this isn't really a real update. I edited the prologue (thanks to Dreamingone's comments). So far, it's the only thing I've done. Please take a look at it, and tell me what you think. Really. It would really be appreciated. :) I'll be deleting this message in a few days.

I'm not sure when I'll update "Unforgotten" since I'm quite busy with "Forced to Forget". I'm running out of inspiration for this story, and since no one is really reading it, it's not on my priority list. That doesn't meant though that I'm giving up on this. Just... it'll just take a while. I have the next chapter done for like five months already, but I'm not content with it yet.

If you guys want, you could read "Forced to Forget" for the moment, since it's where I'm concentrating now... I hope you guys would understand!


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